Dark Till Dawn
by madANIME
Summary: Anatole' and Felicia, whom some would call hunters of the darkness itself, face a major dilemma. The shady Chief of Police in thier city has caught on to thier nightly escapades of undead blooshed, and has decided to deal with them. Its a wonder hes never


"Never again Anatolé! I wont!" yelled the beautiful, by some standards, raven-black haired woman named Felicia. She wore a small black shirt over an even smaller tank top that bore the word Jihad. She had also donned a long black skirt and a grimace on her usually emotionless face. Her eyes told some of her story, their gray depth portraying her sadness, her anger, and her love for the man she yelled at, all at the same time. Her face was one of a goddess, sharp features mixed with the light brown pigment in her skin that made some call her tone Mediterranean. "These silly games of yours can't go on!" She finally said to break the silence that took place after her previous and nervous outburst "You told me we were going to dinner" she pouted. Slumping back into her seat, she turned a bit and stared out of her passenger side window at the dark alleyways, shady clubs, and ominous people flashing past. "He's on to us Anatolé, and I don't like that feeling", she spoke seemingly to know one. She was speaking of he chief of police, who all too often found them hanging around the scenes of their crimes. The depressingly large man, who's gun seemed to make him swell, and a pack of Tums that helped him with the grandiose burritos you knew he must eat. There was something about the man, a presence he emanated. When you were around him, you felt as though he knew you without telling him a thing, and no one is comfortable with that.  
  
They went through their personal and intimate masquerade every night, dressing in acceptable clothes, brushing their faces with white concealer, and placing over their canines, the sharp, fake, vampire teeth that kept them alive every night. Hiding in their clothes the very implements that would banish the very things they were impersonating. The driver of the car, known only as Anatolé, started preparing for the night ahead by opening the dash-board with his free hand and pulling out the Tec22 machine gun he would surely use that night. He lifted his pelvis off of the driver's chair and placed the gun into his back holster, before settling back down into his seat. He then reached underneath the seat and pulled out something that was known to everyone who ever watched Saturday morning cartoons. a grenade.  
  
"Jesus Tolé!" Felicia said as she watched him pull it from under the seat, then she spoke. "I wonder about your." and was abruptly cut off by Anatolé.  
  
"Sanity?" he cut in. "I'm sure you do at times." He said as he pulled the small black Honda around yet another corner of the labyrinth of a place called southeast Chicago. "But you will never, I hope question the oath you made to me 2 years ago." He said, "That we shall fight, no matter what. Now get ready, I'd hate to see you fall tonight, on our anniversary." He smiled and said.  
  
It was their anniversary Felicia thought, and an odd anniversary it was. Their second full year of fighting the vile, undead, blood sucking vermin they called vampires. "Just shut up" she murmured as she grabbed her gear from the back. "With that attitude, I'll be crying for you tonight" she spoke. Felicia twisted in her seat to the face the back, where she fumbled in the dark for the black pack she carried almost everywhere at night. With it she turned, facing the front again, and started rummaging through it. "Ahhh, my baby" she said as she pulled the jet-black crossbow from her pack and kissed it. She then pulled from the back of the car a moderately long black staff that had a hilt on one side, and when looked at closer turned out to be a scabbard. She pulled the sword from the scabbard revealing a decorated, acid-etched, katana. Inscribed on the sword were Japanese characters that stood for hope, luck, and good battle, what Felicia had requested when it was handcrafted in Tokyo.  
  
"I think you love that thing more than you do me Felicia" Anatolé said and smirked as he drove on.  
  
"Awww, you jealous? Poor baby" Felicia said, sliding the sword back in, and her attitude changed now that she was in a better mood. She leaned over and kissed his cheek, "It is odd though Tolé, sometimes you're as lethal and cold as this blade... haven't we gone far enough?"  
  
"I guess so. you set?" Anatolé asked.  
  
"Well considering the fact that I'm always ready while I'm with you. yes." She grinned as Anatolé stopped the car and they got out in front of a club called the Hourglass. She proceeded to prop her leg up on the bumper and strap the small break-down crossbow to her inner thigh. It was uncomfortable she thought, but sooner or later it would come out tonight. She took the gun out of Anatolé's back holster and handed him the cane sword. He started to protest but then nodded when he realized she would never fit in with a cane. Felicia stuffed the gun into the back of her skirt and then pulled her shirt to let it droop over her waist.  
  
"Ok" Tolé said and grinned. He took her arm in his and he swung the cane sword as they walked into the club. He looked at the bouncer inside the door and smiled, then waited for him to open the door. He strolled in and immediately caught the eye of several people, his radiant smile was seen by all, and his long dirty blond hair, which was braided once, swished from side to side as he and Felicia walked in. Anatolé with his black suit and Felicia with her near punk garb made an odd couple. Yet after a quick glance at all the other weirdoes that frequented the place, you wouldn't have thrown them a second glance.  
  
He leaned in and whispered "one o'clock" into her ear. She nodded, smiled, and walked off into the club. Anatolé headed over to the bar and ordered a dry gin, watching Felicia as she easily slipped onto the dance floor and all but disappeared into the crowd. He smiled as he watched her dance, his angel, his second hand man, and his wife. Nothing had been able to tear them apart, not both their parents divorces, not the miscarriage Felicia had suffered, not the three vampires who had hunted them down for fun, killing their friends and family on the way.  
  
He never really remembered how they escaped from the trio but he was glad they had. He took a couple sips of the gin and then just sat back watching the scene. He spotted a few obvious vampires, the ones who carelessly smiled revealing their pearl white fangs, and the ones who forgot to pretend to breathe. How easy it was for the trained eye to see vampires, for all their secrecy and hiding, they weren't very smart, he thought. He chuckled. "To forget to pretend to breathe." The bar tender looked at him oddly for the statement but quickly looked away when he saw Anatolé staring at him. It was a thought not many shared he thought to himself. He looked down at his watch again and saw that it was 12:30, "almost show time" he spoke softly, then scanned the room with a sight that didn't come from practice. His "life-sense" or at least what he liked to call it revealed to him that there were only approximately 75 mortals in the room, and out of a possible 200, and it scared him. He hoped nothing had discovered Felicia like he was discovering these creatures or they would be in trouble. Finishing the gin, he stood up, placed a ten on the counter and walked away from the bar.  
  
Felicia danced, and that was all she knew for the moment, she was lost in the song and noise of the club. Humanity was at its emotional peak in the weirdest of places, she thought. Here, no one cared about race, no one cared about looks, it was all about the dance. The people thrashing around her only intensified her need to dance, and dance she did. Moving across the floor in-between the dancing figures she moved her arm across her face to inconspicuously glance at her watch. "12:58" she said to herself. better move. It was the same thing every time, one watched and decided what was more important, killing the licks, or sparing the mortals and often Anatolé sprung for the undead's death. She danced to the edge of the crowd and then faking fatigue moved off the floor and to a booth where she sat and crouched just before the flash.  
  
The room shook, or so it seemed, with the blast of the white phosphorous grenade. Why white phosphorous you might ask yourself she thought, because it burned, burned well. and the enemy just happened to hate fire. She was pushed back up against the wall of the booth but was otherwise unharmed. Someone obviously hadn't shared her luck because she heard the sickening thud of flesh against hard substance, and then watched as a burnt arm, attached to no body she saw, dropped in front of her face. Unfazed she sat up in the booth and looked around. She had closed her eyes before crouching, so the white flash had not effected her and she was able to look out on the dance floor. There she saw Anatolé, in a flash of agility, speed, and sword, cutting, slicing, and otherwise decimating the surviving creatures that tried desperately to pick themselves up off the floor. There was no way a mortal could have survived the blast of the high explosive self-made white-phosphorus grenade, so Anatolé had no moral problem harvesting the heads of the burnt humanoid husks of moving undead flesh that crawled along the dance floor.  
  
Out of the corner of her eye Felicia noticed a large gaping figure rise out of a booth behind Anatolé, and she was quick to act. She rolled out of the booth she occupied and I one fluid motion drew the Tec22 from the small of her back. She knelt in the shadows and tried to take a second to aim, but the figure moved to fast, grabbing the unknowing Anatolé by the neck. She panicked and fired a three shot burst into the murky figure and watched it real back, still gripping her husband. "Mother Fuckin lick" she screamed and ran forward, pumping round after round into the seemingly godlike creature. "Fuckin die" escaped from her mouth after she had moved halfway across the room to stand over the two bodies, one holding the other In a vice-like death grip, and the other struggling for breath. She aimed the gun one last time, and fired. The bullet entered the face of the Vampire and ashy cranial tissue imbedded in pieces of bone were ejected forcefully, and violently from the back, spewing over the floor and lifting the rest of the head up for a moment before it quietly thudded back down.  
  
Anatolé, wide eyed, pried the now, once undead, dead fingers from his neck and while rubbing it stood up to comfort his shaking wife. "It's ok Felicia" he spoke softly. "I'm ok". He slowly raised his hand and brushed the gun off to the side before taking it slowly from her and holding her by the arm. "Come. on. we gotta move".  
  
They walked briskly out of the club, past the astonished people still alive and the bodies that riddled the floor. Anatolé thought he could hear sirens in the background but wasn't sure, except for the fact that he wasn't taking any chances. He half shoved Lisa through the door of the car, and leaped over the expanse of the hood to land, and jump in himself. Pressing the keys in and gunning the engine they took off down the street. 


End file.
